


Were-y Christmas

by AgentStovring



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Christmas, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-26
Updated: 2012-12-26
Packaged: 2017-11-22 12:46:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/609956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentStovring/pseuds/AgentStovring
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas usually isn't the best time to be Derek Hale, but that might change this year..</p>
            </blockquote>





	Were-y Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Follows season 2, but ignores Erica and Boyd leaving the pack, as well as Scott and Allison's break-up. For plot purposes Derek still lives in the subway lair.  
> (This is my first ever post on this site; I hope you enjoy it!)

 

Christmas was not a good time to be Derek Hale. Not that it was all fun and games at any other time of the year, but Christmas, more than anything else, brought back memories of the family he had lost forever and threatened to incapacitate him with pain.  
After most of his family had burned to death by Kate's hands, he and Laura had been closer than ever, as if they were emotionally huddled for warmth in a cold and unforgiving reality.  
They'd spent Christmas together just the two of them, ever since; Derek had become a stone since the fire and had left any friends behind without ever attempting to make new ones or get romantically involved with anyone. Laura had always drawn people to her, but every year as Christmas Eve drew closer, she turned down invitations from friends and suitors, choosing to spend the holidays with her brother instead.

When Laura had died, Derek was all alone, feeling more lost than ever before, constantly faced with the tragedy of his past and the mistakes he'd made as he walked the streets of his hometown.  
Since Laura's death he'd spent Christmas alone, isolating himself from everyone. Not that he had to;  the first December after her passing, he'd barely spoken to anyone in Beacon Hills, and he doubted the few people he'd gotten reacquainted with had wondered about his holiday plans.  
  
Last December he had found himself with a small brat pack of new wolves, but Boyd, Erica and Isaac had friends and family to spend the holidays with, and had left him to celebrate with their loved ones.  
They hadn't asked about his plans before they left or after they returned, and he didn't blame them; they knew about his family, they knew he had no friends and they definitely knew that he would have aggressively rejected any offer of joining them for the holidays.  
Besides, who would invite Derek Hale, former murder suspect and grade A sad sack, into their home at any time of the year. Christmas was a time to spend with family, not miserable strangers.  
  
On the 24th Derek had torn through the woods in his wolf form, caring little about the ramifications of people seeing him in broad daylight. He ran until his body ached, trying to escape his own thoughts and feelings but failing; when his legs could no longer carry him, he found shelter by some fallen trees where he slept for hours without changing back to his human body.  
In the afternoon he went to the burned remains of his old house, just as he had the year before and the year before that. He walked the darkened floors, ashes flying up in little clouds around his feet, dusting his shoes and the legs of his jeans; he touched the charred walls, his fingertips turning black, exploring every remaining room with his eyes closed.  
  
Even with the smell of burned wood all around him and the cold winds blowing through the cracks in the walls, he could easily imagine his father's laughter and his calm tone of voice as he told his children to be good to one another; he could see himself and Laura on the floor in front of the fireplace, playing board games with Peter..  
Derek's fists tightened; his uncle, who could usually be found bothering Lydia, had vanished a couple of days earlier. If Derek knew his uncle like he thought he did, Peter would reappear soon enough, probably just off looking up old friends; Derek didn't particularly miss him and wouldn't waste a tear if his uncle were to turn up dead, but he had sort of expected (and honestly hoped) to have some company this Christmas, even if it was the mostly unwanted kind.  
  
He pushed Peter out of his thoughts, erased him from the memories and moved on into the kitchen; he could see his mother at the stove, smell the irresistible scents of their dinner being prepared; he heard his mother's voice calling out for him and Laura to set the table, saw the two of them arguing over who would get the glasses and how the cutlery was supposed to be set.  
  
They were always arguing back then, about anything they could think of; broken toys, wishbones, chores, carol lyrics and the size of their presents.  
After the fire they'd stopped picking fights, kept arguments to a minimum and discussions short; he'd heard Laura tell a friend that they no longer fought because they were closer now, but Derek knew she was lying, that she felt what he felt; they no longer argued because nothing seemed important anymore.    
  
When Laura was killed he realized that he'd been wrong; he'd had one important person left and he'd failed to protect her. Anger welled up inside of him and he opened his eyes, seeing the burned house as it really was, and he fell to his knees releasing a sound far from human; a guttural, growling scream of pain.  
His chest and throat felt painfully constricted like he was choking on something hard and pointy, and he gave up, letting his tears fall freely for the first time in months. He stayed on the floor for several minutes, quietly shaking as the pain lessened and allowed him to breathe evenly again.  
  
Then he rose to his feet, dusted himself off and wiped his tears with the back of his hand, drying it on his shirt. Leaving the house he took one last look over his shoulder before heading back to the subway lair, where he knew any rest would be a miracle; he was most likely going to end up lying wide awake on the tattered fold-out couch he'd saved from the garbage truck, staring into the darkness for hours before sleep would finally take him.  
  
As he came closer to the lair though, he started to hear voices; eager, excited, encouraging voices rushing over each other, bouncing off the steely walls of his current home. He could hear Erica and Isaac, then Boyd briefly, and he wondered why they hadn't left to see their families yet, as it had to be close to dinner time by now.  
Then he heard Allison and stopped in his tracks; she should definitely be with her family. Not only that; he had never had her in the lair before. Less surprising was Scott's voice, because after all, he'd just heard Allison and who'd ever heard of those two spending  more time apart than it took to go to the bathroom?  
Lydia was there too, her sing-song vocals gently arguing with Erica until another voice sounded, slightly louder than the rest, making them all quiet down; it was unmistakably Stiles'.  
"Guys, seriously, less chit-chat, more balls! ..Shut up, Jackson, you know what I meant. Let's get this done before Derek gets here."  
  
A small hope started to blossom inside Derek, despite his best efforts to stomp it down, and when he stepped into the lair, it unfolded into a fluttering heat in his stomach and chest.  
Strings of Christmas lights were wrapped around the steel beams in the ceiling, illuminating the space and making it warm and cozy. There were lit candles on the most stable surfaces and a dinner setting made up of mismatched chairs and two tables pushes together, a red cloth covering them. Delicious food took up most of the space, barely leaving room for paper plates and plastic cups.  
  
His little pack was there, and Scott, Stiles, Lydia and Allison as well; Peter was lounging in a sun bleached patio chair, watching as the younger generation were trimming a lush, green Christmas tree. The young ones all looked up when Derek entered, having been too busy to hear him arriving, and the looks in their eyes were almost fearful, as if they'd been caught doing something terrible.  
  
Derek tried to sound calm and stoic, but there was a distinct shakiness in his voice. "What's going on here?"  
Lydia dared to hang the last bauble she was holding, then folded her hands in front of her, innocently.  
"It was Stiles' idea."  
Stiles opened his mouth obscenely, seemingly wanting to protest out of sheer survival instinct, but then he sighed, nodding.  "Uh, yeah, I thought.. we thought you might like some company tonight."  
He cleared his throat, gathering courage and added;   
"And if you don't, too bad; we're a family now and there are always some family members you don't like, but you still have to see them. And there's food enough for a small country, so you have to help us out there."  
  
Derek looked around at their expectant faces (even Peter seemed interested in his reaction), then he nodded, shrugging off his leather jacket. "I'll go wash my hands."  
The kids all looked stunned at his reaction, enough to make him smile slightly once he was out of sight. He pulled the dirty grey tank top over his head and washed his hands before putting on a navy blue t-shirt, rejoining the group. They were all standing by the makeshift dinner table, each of them behind the chair they would be seated in, and when Derek reached his seat at the end of the table they all sat down with him.  
  
Boyd was on his left, having instinctively chosen to protect Derek's weak side, and Stiles was seated on the alpha's right, smiling nervously when he caught his eye; Derek surprised him by giving a small smile in return. Scott was about to reach for a bowl of potatoes when Isaac grabbed his and Lydia's hands.  
"Grace."  
Everyone looked at him for a second or two, then slowly joined hands with the people next to them, Peter extremely smug as he took Lydia's other hand. When Stiles slipped his hand into Derek's the older man felt his own palm tingle and avoided eye contact. Isaac ignored everyone's discomfort and said,  
"In a perfect world we'd get to see our loved ones all the time, and we'd appreciate their company and everything they do for us. And we'd always get appreciated in return. At least during the holidays we should slow down and remember to be grateful for the people in our lives. For our family, whether they are with us or not, and whether they're related to you by blood or you've chosen them for yourself. Amen."  
  
They all echoed his final word, Erica smiling warmly at her chosen brother before passing a bowl of candied yams to Allison. Stiles and Derek were the last people at the table to let go of each other, and only after Jackson had nudged Erica to bring attention to their joined hands. Derek used every ounce of self-control he possessed on not blushing, but he saw Stiles' cheeks color slightly as the younger man focused intensely on piling food onto his plate.  
  
The conversations around the table were awkward at first, but soon everyone were sharing memories of their experiences together over the past two years, life threatening and funny in a jumbled mess; Derek even told the story of Scott's pathetic first attempt at a howl, laughter in his voice. He seemed genuinely happy and the kids shared looks of excitement at their successful Christmas dinner.  
When no one could force down another bite, Lydia divided the leftovers between all takers, and Boyd helped Allison throw away the disposable plates and cutlery.  
  
Derek was taking a quiet moment by himself, watching everyone from the shadows with a small smirk on his lips; he was happy. For the first time in a long time, someone had wanted his company and cared about him, making an effort to include him in something. No one could ever truly replace his parents or Laura, but he had a family again; a weird, broken and pieced-together family, as mismatched as the chairs around the dinner table.  
  
"Oh my God, is that _happy_ brooding? It's like your face and your body are doing two different things."  
Derek stood up straighter as Stiles came closer, but he caught himself before putting up his guards completely; the younger man deserved at least a bit of openness for his efforts.  
Stiles stood still next to him, watching the others work for a while, then he looked up.  
"Oh, hey, is that mistletoe?"  
  
Derek looked up, frowning.  
"That's mold."  
"Well, excuse me for trying to get you in the holiday spi-"  
Derek cut him off with a soft kiss, a hand on the back of the teenager's head, fingers in his growing hair. Stiles made a small sound and kissed him back, breathless by the time Derek broke the kiss, touching his thumb to Stiles' bottom lip.  
"Thank you."  
Stiles smiled crookedly, pulling slightly at the other's shirt as he leaned in for another kiss.  
"Merry Christmas, Derek."


End file.
